


Trouble With the Law

by Nordic_Breeze



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Cutesy, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordic_Breeze/pseuds/Nordic_Breeze
Summary: A timid reader and a fairly new inclusion to the van der Linde gang. You've been wary of Arthur ever since you joined the van der Linde's but nevertheless you find courage to come to his aid when he finds himself in trouble with the law while Arthur gets a taste of how it would be like to have a family of his own.But first, a prelude.





	Trouble With the Law

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been in my draft for almost two months. I've been working on it now and then in between my other stories, but a writer's block prevented me from completing it until now.

The surprise shower of rain has let up and the sun greets you with its warmth as you exit the general store in Valentine. You tuck away a candy bar and a small bag of dried fruit and let your fingers glide over a lovely blue shawl you bought from the money you earned from selling some of your crafts. It feels good to have paid with hard-earned, honest cash for once. Karen and Mary-Beth are nowhere to be seen. You reckon they went to join Bill when the rain stopped to secure the best seats on the buckboard. You let out a huff as you realize you’ll be dead last to return – again.

Or, maybe not? You wrap the new shawl around you, tying the ends into a loose knot when Arthur Morgan’s unmistakable voice catches your ear. You turn and spot him two steps to your left, talking to the one-armed, loquacious beggar in the well-worn, tattered soldier’s uniform. Or, listening impatiently as the other rambles on. You mentally prepare to defend the pitiful scrounger from the coarse and rowdy outlaw. Morgan is being friendly, well, friendly-ish for the time being but surely his near non-existing patience is about to run out. You still have a few coins left that you think of handing to the homeless man. You regret buying the candy bar. If you hadn’t, the poor fella could’ve bought himself a hot meal, but there should still be enough money for – _what?!_

A second later, you forget all about that when, to your astonishment, the lonesome soldier embraces the brooding van der Linde with his one arm.

“I won’t forget this, Arthur,” he vows, his voice brimming with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The beggar saunter in the direction of the train station, a smile spread on his weathered face as he hums about his friend Arthur while playing with the coins given to him. Mr. Morgan turns on his heels, chin low and notably self-aware. It certainly doesn’t help when he meets your marble eyes, and come to realize that you’ve witnessed everything. The other van der Linde’s had all returned to the buckboard, or so he thought. He was sure no one from the camp would see. Two awkward seconds of dumbstruck silence follow before Mr. Morgan tips the brim of his hat.

“Miss <y/n>”

“Mr. Morgan.” Eyes fixed on the buttons on his shirt, you return the greeting. “That was, um, very kind of you, I’m sure he appr-“

“Sure.”

He offers the curt response as he strides past you in the direction of the van der Linde’s customary rendezvous-spot. You follow a couple of steps behind, equally self-conscious. The fact that this had been your very first actual, one-on-one exchange with the daunting Mr. Morgan does not help at all. You both reach the buckboard at the same time, and you realize just a second too late it seems to the others as you two have been gone somewhere together, earning some strange looks.

“What you two been up to?” Bill grins, clearly amused.

“Nothing!” You and Arthur simultaneously chime, which earns a few raised eyebrows. Arthur finds his place next to Bill without another word, and you squeeze in between the girls, cheeks glowing. Karen shoves her elbow into your ribs, eyes brimming with curiosity.

“What happened?” she giggles. “What was you and Arthur up to?”

“I- eh,” you begin.

“C’mon, tell us!”

“Um, eh- you gonna have to ask Mr. Morgan.”

~*~

 “Look auntie <y/n>, a froggie!”

“That’s a frog all right. Look, I think it’s about to leap.”

And right on cue, the amphibian springs into the air, followed by three tiny hops across the forest floor, which prompts a gleeful laugh from the squatting four-year old.

“It’s so cute. Hi froggie.”

“Now, what should we name him? Or her?”

“<Y/N>!”

“After me? Aw, that’s so sweet.”

You’re in the woods not too far from the camp site. Your mission: gather herbs, berries and mushrooms. You brought Jack with you, not just as a favor to Abigail, but because you genuinely enjoy spending time with the boy. You and young Marston are both consumed by the study of forest creatures when you hear angry voices from the road nearby, one of them familiar. Mr. Morgan?

There are at least two additional men’s voices which yo do not recognize, but from his tone you can tell Mr. Morgan is not pleased with how the conversation is going. Using the forest vegetation as cover, you sneak up to eavesdrop, motioning for Jack to be quiet by putting your index to your lips.

“Can’t a fellar enjoy this beautiful country in peace and quiet anymore?”

“Not when there’s been a stagecoach robbery nearby,” an unfamiliar voice interjects. “We have to question everybody in the area, sir.”

“You see mister,” another other voice breaks in, this one more assertive. “Eyewitnesses has described a man of your height and shape robbing that stagecoach, and here you are, no alibi and no good explanation as to your presence here.”

“I was out huntin’.”

“I don’t see no hunting rifle.”

“It’s on my horse, it’s, eh – it got spooked by a snake or somethin’ movin’ in the grass. I dunno where it’s run off to.”

“What did you say your name was again, Sir?”

“I didn’t.”

You’ve been wary of the gang’s leading enforcer ever since you joined the van der Linde’s all those months ago, finding him ruthless, crude and not just a little bit intimidating. Nonetheless you believe he’s innocent as it’s in your best interest to keep a low profile so close to the camp. But even in the off-chance he did rob that stagecoach, you still have to help out a fellow gang member and get rid of these lawmen so dangerously close to the camp. Leaning into Jack’s ear you give him a set of very specific instructions.

“Pa! We’re back, pa.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up when Jack sprints out from behind the trees, shortly followed by you carrying a basket brimming with various flora, smiling from ear to ear.

“Darling! Sorry we took so long,” you tweet as you tuck away a runaway lock. You have to force yourself to look him directly in the eyes, something you’ve never dared to before, as you tuck your arm around his and flash him the loveliest a smile. Arthur is quick to hide his bemusement and plays along, hoisting Jack up in his left arm whilst letting you hold onto his right. All these months he’s been wholly convinced you despise him so he’s more than a little bit surprised but nonetheless grateful for the bailout. But what could your motivation possibly be?

“Pa, guess what, we just saw a froggie,” young Marston chimes. “I named it after momma.”

The boy inadvertently coming up with the perfect excuse for your absence, all you have to do is to give Arthur an alibi. “Is my husband in trouble with the law? No Sir, that could not have been him robbing those poor folks. He’s been with us for the better part of the day, teaching our boy how to track animals while I was gathering herbs. It’s for tonight’s dinner.”

Your grip around Arthur’s arm tightens. He’s rolled up the sleeves and your fingertips brush against his warm skin. You had never expected him to feel so - soft.

“That horse of us got spooked by a snake and ran to the river down there.” Your eyes never leaving the lawmen, you nod in the direction of said river. The crown of your head bumps into Arthur’s arm.

“She’s a darling but terribly skittish I’m afraid. My husband said he’d go after her while I took our boy behind that rock over there. Nature calling. But when he saw that little frog, it was impossible to get him to leave. You know, boys his age.”

You turn to Arthur. Was that a hint of a smile? It almost makes you lose your train of thought. Almost. “Did you find Boadicea, dear?”

You hope he doesn’t mind the use of his old horse’s name. Nearly drawing a momentarily blank, it was the only name that had popped into your head. If he does mind, he doesn’t show it.

“I was about to go down and calm her when these two idiots came outta nowhere.”

“Now darling, have some respect for the law.” Hoping to defuse the situation peacefully, you place your other hand on Arthur’s overarm, feeling his muscles tense under the fabric of his shirt. “These fine gentlemen here are just doing their job,” you remind, squeezing his arm lightly.

The more aggressive of the lawmen steers his attention back to Arthur. “Is this true?”

“As the lady says,” the van der Linde cooly replies, giving him _that_ glare. His voice is calm but with a threatening edge to its tone.

Jack plays his part beautifully and you surprise yourself being almost equally convincing. Now having a solid alibi, the lawmen have no choice but to let their suspect go. As they retreat you let go of your five-minute husband’s arm, whom now has Jack in both of his. You feel a buzz of excitement knowing that your plan had worked like a charm and relieved that the threat was dealt with peacefully, but with the lawmen gone, the realization that you’re now alone with the menacing outlaw sinks in. You hope he’s not angry with your meddling. You are well aware of his shoot-first-ask-never stance when it comes to troublesome lawmen. The law well out of hearing-range, Arthur shifts his attention to the boy eagerly reciting your plan, and asking if he did well. He did.

“It was aunt <y/n>’s idea,” he smiles after Arthur’s done praising him. Your grip on the basket tightens, making your knuckles go white.

Still not sure why you had helped him but grateful nonetheless, the van der Linde offers you a ride back to camp. Too nervous to speak, you just nod. As Arthur’s horse can’t carry all three of you, you and Jack takes up the saddle whilst Arthur leads. Thank goodness for the young one’s never-ending blabber, otherwise the trip back to camp would have been pretty awkward. Actually, it still kind of is.

At the camp, Jack wastes no time running up to Abigail to tell her all about what had happened and how well he did, squealing high enough for the entire camp to hear. Dutch emerges from his tent to see what the commotion’s about and before you know it, people start huddling around as Jack excitedly recites the event to everyone in hearing range. This ends up getting a whole lot more attention than you’d imagined. From the corner of our eye, you take notice of Arthur’s annoyance. Yep, there was definitely an internal facepalm to go with that eye-roll. Your knuckles go white again.

From here on out, everything’s a little hazy. You remember Dutch asking Arthur about the lawmen and the latter brushing it of as a misunderstanding and Karen’s bombardment of questions whose wording you instantly forget. Some of the gang members, especially Bill, sees this as the perfect opportunity to crack jokes at your expense.

“Little miss <y/n> and big ole’mean Arthur Morgan, who would’ve thought,” he roars, resulting in a choir of laughter. “You two keep disappearing and reappearing again together like this, you’ll end up married for real one day,” he wheezes, alluding to the other day in Valentine when you and Arthur had arrived together, both of you avoiding any elaboration on the matter.

“Well then, maybe miss <y/n> here won’t look like a frightened rabbit about to be devoured by a wolf every time Mr. Morgan’s around,” Pearson taunts, followed by more laugher.

This is all too much. You absentmindedly hand the basket over to the person closest to you, Abigail you think, scurry off from the crowd, slip behind the shrubbery surrounding the camp, coming to a halt at a patch of grass close to the canyon cliffside where you start pacing, embarrassed and annoyed at your own inability to stand up for yourself. Unless you learn how to retort fellow gang members’ mockery at your expense, you’re going to end up as the butt of the joke more than once.

In the meantime, Tilly and Mary-Beth both insist that Arthur, who just wants the whole thing to be forgotten and over with mind you, go and talk to you. He eventually caves in and heads over to check on you, startling you as he makes his presence known.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, miss. You allrite?”

You fumble with your fingers, one moment intertwining them, the next you’re playing with the fringes on your shawl or twiddling your hair. “What? Me? Sure. I’m cool as a cucumber,” you gawkily chortle, a spur-of-the-moment attempt at making light of a tense situation, immediately followed by internal cringing.

“Cool as a _– what?_ ”

“Eh, nothing. Just something I read in a poem once,” you continue babbling. Lord knows what he must be thinking of you now, _silly little girl_.

“Really?”

“Never mind. Look, I’m real sorry about all the fuss back there thanks to my _brilliant_ plan. I didn’t mean for it to get so you know, … embarrassing.”

“It ain’t yer fault,” he assures, saving you from having to continue your train of thought, of which had hit a buffer stop. “Bill’n Pearson may be idiots both of’em, but they mean nothin’ by it.”

“I know, I-“

“I go’n talk to’em.”

“No, tha-that’s okay. It’ll only make it worse. I need to learn how to stand up for myself.”

“You sure?”

“M-hmm.”

“All rite. Just let me know if you want me to put’em in their place.”

An awkward pause ensues. Arthur scratches the back of his head. His wordless stare has you look down. You trace the ground with your foot, watching grass blades disappear under the sole of your shoe. How hard life must be for ground-level flora, being stepped and tramped on all day when all they want in life is to be left alone to bathe in the sun, with a little bit of water and air to go.

“You’re a clever one you know, savin’ me from a night in jail like that. You did good.”

You return his compliment with a coy smile. You can feel your cheeks burning, as if the warmth of your beam is surging upwards and accumulating at a spot below your eyes. Flustered and charmed by the outlaw, you avert your eyes, hoping in vain he hadn’t noticed. A smile tugs at his lips.

“You’ve got one thing wrong, though.” There is a hint of jest to his voice. “Boadicea wasn’t skittish.”

“Oh I have no doubt. I was just, had to say something fast and it was the only name I could think of.”

“Yeah I figured.” A low rumble from his chest emerges as a deep and throaty yet pleasant chortle. “I was surprised you remembered.”

“You miss her?”

He looks away for the first time since joining you on that patch of grass, blades horizontal against the ground after endless pacing from many a troubled van der Linde.

“She was a good horse,” he eventually replies without really answering your question though the expression in his eyes alongside a long, near imperceptible sigh you more sense than hear is answer enough. He adjusts his hat by tugging at the brim. You see absolutely no difference.

“Well, catch you later, then.”

“Wait!” You stop him as he’s about to turn on his heels, your faltering courage thwarting you from saying what you had intended. “Can I, um, ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you really rob that stagecoach?”


End file.
